Keepin' It Real with Cam Marston
Time to begin considering New Years Resolutions... ----- It’s December first which means it’s time for me to begin planning my New Year’s Resolutions. I take these seriously and begin planning them a month out. Any fool can resolve to change things New Year’s Day when they’re hungover, their belly is flopping around, and they’re full of regret. Drink less and get in shape is a New Years Resolution standard, like turkey for Thanksgiving. At my gym, I refer to the first fifteen days of the New Year as tourist season. People show up motivated and driven by the hopes of meaningful...
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I took the Friday after Thanksgiving off but found an excellent stand-in. This commentary comes from one of my daughter's college writing assignments. ----- Christmas Comes Early in Oxford There are two types of people in this world, ones who celebrate Christmas months in advance and those who celebrate after Thanksgiving. I can honestly say that I put people in these categories. It is an essential question I ask when getting to know someone along with, “What is your name?” and “How old are you?” People are passionate about their category. Those who celebrate early say that their...
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Some swine content before your Thanksgiving ham. ----- This is about pigs. Hogs, too. Sounders. Litters. And it’s timely since many of you, like me, accompany the Thanksgiving turkey with a ham. So, let’s have a quick chat about the magic that is pigs, hams, hogs, and other swine-related stuff. Next week I’ll spend part of the Thanksgiving break in the woods of Clarke County, Alabama. If the weather is nice, my Thanksgiving meal will be on the porch of my father’s camp breaking bread around 1pm with my wife and kids, my brothers, their wives and kids, and my father. It’s what we do....
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My wife and I went to Oxford, Mississippi last weeked. Here's the scoop... ----- Oxford, Mississippi is as beautiful as they say. My wife and I visited this past weekend to see my daughter. We joined her for a morning tailgate in the famed Grove followed by a football game. It was exceptional. Here’s what I saw. First – These people are serious about their tailgating. Our host was a couple friend who rented a tent on the Grove for home games. The Grove is exactly that, a grove of trees under which these tents sit and by tent, don’t think something for camping. It was a covering over a...
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A similar theme repeats itself across all faiths. It's a discipline I have little of. ------ A friend of mine claims he’s a genius. He has little evidence of this. Just an over-confident assessment of his himself. He’s quite entertaining. He believes the lunar landings were a hoax, but of his own genius, he’s certain. Last night I told him I was struggling for a topic for this week’s commentary. I hadn’t seen or thought or felt anything that moved me to write about it. So, I asked him for ideas. He blustered and bloviated and finally got around to saying this: The greatest enemy each...
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The six weeks of travel is nearly over. Now I need to prepare for re-entry. ----- Good morning from Phoenix. This is my final stop on my intense six weeks of business trips. By tomorrow afternoon I should be home and I will not only unpack, I will put my luggage away. After years of mistakes, I’ve learned a bit about how to come off the road. For years I walked into my house with a chip on my shoulder and I’ve talked to other road warriors who experience the same. Our attitude is this – Whatever has happened at home while I’ve been gone is not nearly as difficult as what I’ve...
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My fall travel season has started... ----- The travel season has begun. Fall is always the busy season but this year it’s all compressed into a short six weeks. Eleven cities. Thirty-two flights. There was a time when I bragged about this much travel. I felt it made me some sort of super-hero. Now I keep it quiet. I throw away the luggage tags that display my airline status. They don’t scream “road warrior” to me anymore. They whisper “bad dad.” Getting back into the swing of travel hasn’t been that difficult this fall. I know what to expect and what I’m likely to confront in...
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Universal Truths about Fear ----- I hadn’t expected the reaction to last week’s commentary on fear and sloth. The podcast version was forwarded more than most and the social media got a lots of attention and forwards, too. Most of those commenting were like me – sloth is not such a problem. Fear is the problem. A friend pointed me to a book that, he says, changed his life. It’s called Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway by Susan Jeffers and was first published in 1987. It’s sold millions and has been translated into 35 different languages. Fear is a big seller because it’s a common...
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Every day. Every single day. ----- A friend told me that every day waiting for us at the foot of our bed is sloth and fear. Our eyes open, our brain turns on, and sloth and fear are right there. On the bed. Waiting. Our first challenge every day is to get past them. And she’s not wrong. Sloth and fear work together. They’re different mental states but they support each other. I’m afraid of what might happen today or sometime in the future so I won’t move, I’ll stay right here in bed. It’s predictable here, we say. And the longer I stay here, the more afraid I become of what may...
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Warriors need to be praised. ----- Young men have always been warriors. They’d go fight the battles while the elders sat around the campfire. The elders decided if fighting was the right thing and when and how to do it. The warriors executed the plan. When they returned, they were glorified for their success, or they were coddled in their loss. Either way, they were praised for their efforts. Most old men don’t seek glory like young men do. Something happens after about forty years old, where glory no longer drives behavior. Old men prefer instruction and guidance. Not glory. Learning from...
info_outlineMy friends and I attend an organ recital together each week. It's not what you think...
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The pickle ball bug has bitten. A buddy put together a group of guys all about the same age to play each Wednesday evening not long ago. We all showed up, most of us knew each other, debated the rules for a while, and we got started. It’s now a regular thing.
Each time we gather we shake hands, we catch up and bit, and each of us, whether we’re asked or not, goes through what’s called The Organ Recital. It’s a part of what happens when men of a certain age or older gather. Maybe women, too, but I can only speak to what the men do. We talk about what hurts on our body, how well or poorly we’ve been sleeping, who we know that is sick. We talk about digestion. About what foods are kind to us and which ones we struggle with. Which spices upset our stomach. Which medicines help and which ones don’t seem to do anything at all. It’s the Organ Recital. It doesn’t last long. Usually someone says, “Hey, enough. We sound like old men. Let’s play.” And that ends it. And then we start putting on knee braces, patella tendon straps, and tendonitis sleeves. It’s so sad.
My father has a golf group that has set up rules around their Organ Recitals. He and his buddies have played golf every Friday morning for the past decade or more. Their rule is that once the last putt falls into the cup on the first hole, the organ recital must end. It’s a rule they’ve all embraced. However, my father says, many of his friends are now nearly deaf and they keep giving their organ recitals anyway because they can’t hear anyone telling them to stop. It’s the rare privilege of the hard of hearing – not being able to hear when you’re being admonished.
My dad is quite the pickle baller himself. He plays several days a week at the Via Senior Center in Mobile. He’s got a regular crowd and they pair up to play and then they swap teams and they do it for hours. Men and women. He invited me a few weeks back. I guessed I’d be the youngest person there, which was true, and that I’d have an unfair advantage because of that, which was untrue. I got my tail beaten repeatedly. These so-called seniors are savage pickle ball players and what they may lack in speed they make up with precise ball placement. At one point my 85-year-old father and I were playing together and across the net was an 83-year-old lady and her sixty-ish year-old daughter. Father son versus mother daughter. The mom had a wicked serve and at any time could place the ball within a millimeter of wherever she wanted it. My dad and I just barely won, and I walked off the court laughing at the thought that my youth – which is very relative – would create any advantage.
At some point in the match, I lunged for a well-placed shot from the 82-year-old mother and pulled something in my lower back. I soldiered on, unwilling to admit to myself that an 82-year-old was making a fool of me on the pickle ball court. I, of course, dutifully reported my injury the next week at my pickle ball group’s Organ Recital. But when asked about the opponent who did this to me, I kept things a bit vague.
I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep it Real.